Sick Day
Log Title: Sick Day ''' '''Characters: Spike, Sparkplug, Susan Witwicky Location: Portland, Oregon Date: 1980 TP: Flashbacks 'Summary: An early glimpse into the Witwicky family life. A 10-year-old Spike comes down with a case of strep throat. Susan, who usually spends the majority of her time tending to her younger, more needier son, Buster, ends up finally spending some one-on-one time with her eldest son. During this time, Susan privately goes through all that she's sacrificed for her own career to be a stay-at-home mom. She also spends some time both doting over her eldest son, and occasionally wishing she could sell him to the circus - just as most every mom does with a ten-year-old. ' Category:1980 Category:Logs As logged by Spikewitwicky Sparkplug's Place :An old house still standing from before the Korean War. It looks a little dilapitated, although the attached garage seems well-stocked in terms of tools and repair supplies. 1980 - early. A typical school day. Susan has started to go back to work -- substitute teaching as Buster is now in kindergarten. This is one of those days. Well, was supposed to be. But in the Witwicky sons' room, Buster is already up and ready. While Spike is still in bed, fever, and sore throat. The fact that an overly-inquisitive, slightly rambunctious younger member of the family isn't making much noise is usually cause for concern in the fairly chaotic rush to get everyone off and out to work. Susan comes in to check on Spike, a concerned expression on her face. She takes his temperature again and frowns, confirming yep, it's a fever. "Poor honey," she murmurs. "You stay put, and I'll come back with something for your throat." She goes downstairs to call in to school to tell them Spike is sick and they can't come in. She then calls someone (Judy?) to come bring Buster to school so Susan doesn't have to leave Spike. Sparkplug comes in and looks at Spike. He looks over Spike and then Susan and says "I don't know... if you're this sick, you may have to go to the doctor..." Spike emerges from a blanket and looks up at Sparkplug. He nods, sniffing. "I know, dad. That's OK." Sparkplug blinks and looks at Susan, shrugging. Guess me may be telling the truth. He says in a hurried tone, "I'm already late, tell Judy I said 'thanks' for gettin' Buster to school." He looks down at Spike, "I'll call to check in on yah durin' lunch. You just get some rest, kiddo." He then tousles his son's unkempt hair and then gives Susan a kiss before heading out. Susan kisses Sparkplug and makes sure he has his lunch, and then makes sure Buster gets out to school as well, feeling a little bit like a Cleaver as she gets her men off to work and school. She then starts some honeyed tea for Spike. While the teapot is heating, she heads back to Spike's room to check on him, feeling his forehead for the umpteenth time. "I called your school, Spike. You're staying home with me today." One perk for this sick day, it will give Susan time to catch up on her feminist lit reading, since Spike is pretty low maintenance. Spike looks up at Susan and he hears the doors close, mom and son - for the first time in many moons. He gulps and says quietly "thanks..." He then looks at Susan with a worried expression. "Do we have to go to the doctor?" Susan smiles sympathetically down at Spike. "Let's give it a little time to see if your fever breaks. If it doesn't, you might have strep throat, in which case we will need to see the doctor. In the meantime, let me get you something to drink - I made you some tea, and if that doesn't help we'll try warm salt water." She folds a cool damp washcloth on Spike's forehead, and goes to make him his honeyed tea. Spike nods. With Sparkplug out, Spike's usual 'tough like dad' bluster goes away and is replaced by a more meek like "ohkay..." Susan gets Spike his tea, and then looks over him with a pinched, worried expression. She doesn't want to jump the gun on taking him to the doctor, but she doesn't want to wait if it's strep throat, either. She resolves to call the doctor now and see if she can get an appointment today, and then just watch over Spike 'til then. Maybe she can get some reading in indeed - she's been wanting to re-read 'The Feminine Mystique', so this might be her chance. Spike feels the coolness of the washcloth on his head, and drifts off to sleep. To the point where when Susan returns, Spike's out like a light. Perhaps one of the most lowest-maintenance male Witwicky in her household. He sleeps soundly until early afternoon. When he gets up, he's a tad disoriented. He looks around and doesn't hear anyone. Taking a gulp, and wincing, he gets up, taking his eared copy of '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea' ... and his blanket to look for the reassuring presence of mom. He pads down the stairs and into the living room. When Spike wanders downstairs, Susan is happily reading quietly in the living room, drinking a cup of tea she made for herself. It's still a couple of hours 'til Spike's doctor's appointment, so she's been enjoying the rare solitude of an almost-empty house. Spike peers down and says cautiously, "Can I hang out with you?" 2 hours of uninterrupted reading - in a family that includes an extremely sensitive and needy 5-year old, and a rambunctious, overly-inquisitive 10-year-old, and an occasionally grumpy husband. Spike's sick, but so far, this day seems like a min-vacation. Susan looks up and Spike and smiles. "Of course, honey!" she says, putting a bookmark in the hardcover she was reading. She sets her book aside, and asks Spike, "How are you feeling, sweetie? Do you need any more tea, or warm salt water?" Susan unfolds herself and rolls onto her feet, and crosses the room to touch Spike's forehead to check his temperature. "You have a doctor's appointment in a couple of hours - until then we can just hang out here, OK?" Spike looks at Susan and nods. He hates the doctor, but hates how he's feeling worse. And the tea has been awesome. He smiles and says weakly "I'll have some more tea if you'll have some." Spike flops his blanket on the couch where Susan is reading. He then climbs into the couch and adjusts some pillows, pretty much ending Susan's free space reign on said couch. GAME: Spike PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty. A guilt-ish expression comes across Spike's face. Maybe he's heard a few 'private' conversations of Susan and Sparkplug about finances. He says in a cautious tone "Is the doctor going to cost us a lot?" Fortunately, Sparkplug is well into a 'boom' year - the economy may be teetering, but for his skills, it has been paying the bills handsomely - enough so that Susan's part-time (with Buster still in half-days) gig can be used almost exclusively for 'rainy day,' 'college,' and 'retirement' envelopes. Susan smiles sadly at Spike and tussles his hair before going to the kitchen to make more tea for the both of them. From the kitchen she calls out, "Don't worry about the doctor, honey! It'll be fine." She comes back into the living room, and goes over to the bookshelf. She scans over choices, looking for Spike's favorites. "Would you like me to read to you while you drink your tea?" It's an old ritual, and one that hasn't been as prevalent as Spike got older, but if he's this sick he might find it comforting. Spike 's face turns into a big grin and he says sort of teasingly "mooooom...I'm a little bit old for that, don'tchathink?" Spike sips some tea and ... without asking, picks up Susan's book and studies it. He carefully thumbs through the book. Wow... lots of words. He then carefully gives it back to his mom. "Is that a good book?" Spike takes his own book out '20,000 Leagues Under The Sea' - and hopefully to Susan's delight, her son has plowed through 56 pages since starting the book last night. Spike takes another drink and makes a face as he gets a whiff - and a taste of mint with freshly-grated ginger. But adopting his mom's adventurous spirit, he continues sipping the concoction. Susan smiles at Spike's interest in her book and his. She gets tea for both of them and brings it into the living room. "Well, maybe we can both have some reading time, hmm?" she asks. "Maybe for an hour, and then you can get a cool bath before we go to the doctor?" She sits back on the couch, this time taking up only her half so Spike can get comfortable in his blanket and pillow nest. Spike nods and continues to read. About ten minutes go past. He looks on as his mom is getting absorbed into the text. He makes another earmark in his own book and looks over. "What's that book about, mom?" Susan frowns a moment in thought, trying to think of how to sum up her book for a 10-year-old - and how to tiptoe around describing the unhappy role of a housewife to a child without making him feel guilty, especially when he's home sick. Smiling, she says, "It's a book that helped spark a new wave of feminism - the fight for equal rights for men and women. Feminism is about giving women the same choices for happiness as men, and this book helped people see that," she summaries with a proud grin. GAME: Spike PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Immense difficulty. Spike nods slowly, seeming to get every single word she just said. He grins at the last comment. He says weakly "If that's what a feminist is, then I wanna be a feminist too!" Spike says weakly, but with a bit more of a 'puffed-up' tone of courage, "If I was runnin' for President, I would make it illegal to pay women less than men!" Spike cough/barks - overdoing it a bit on the zealousness. Susan flushes with pride, feeling that Sparkplug and she are on the right track with their boys. While at one time she secretly yearned for a daughter she could raise as a proud feminist, she realizes now it's just as important to raise boys as feminists, too. With Buster taking up the majority of Susan's time, it could assumed that a few glimpses of Spike with Sparkplug around have the young Witwicky trying desperately to emulate his dad. But moments like these, he's quiet, reflective, and quite sensitive. As if the 'real' Spike is emerging from the bluster he sometimes overdoes with his dad. Some of Susan's friends may still deride her decision to be a full-time stay at home mom until Buster reaches elementary school age. But moments like this - she may have some ammo to throw back. Is being a corporate shill really more of a contribution to the 'cause' as raising two kids to grow up - arming them with a sense of respect for her feminist sisters. Spike continues reading. The two read in silence for a few, until Spike interrupts again. He looks over at Susan. "Hyeah... 'member before Buster when we used to hang out on the couch like this an' we'd read?" He says "Ok, you'd do MOST of the readin'..." Susan looks down at Spike and smiles, catching the subtext. "Yeah," she says kindly. "We should set aside more time to spend like this - sometime when you're not sick and can actually enjoy it!" Spike grins and actually giggles at his mom's reaction. Susan beams, feeling more like Super-Mom today than she usually gets to. "Let's get you cleaned up to go to the doctor's," she says, standing and reaching to lift Spike to his feet. "Then I'll make you more tea that you can drink before we leave, OK? Maybe if everything goes well we can pick up some ice-cream on the way home to sooth that throat." She winks at her kid like maybe this will be a secret between the two of them. Spike nods and dutifully gets up and gets to the bathroom. He takes a shower - and after about 15 minutes, emerges with the attire of a typical 10-year-old boy. Jeans, adequately scuffed, but not enough to make them look desolate, and an Oregon Ducks t-shirt on. Even though fully cleaned up, his flushed face and general tired expression show that something is amiss. His internal battery is operating at a good 30 percent, which makes him pretty docile and manageable today. Spike licks his cracked lips. "You know...I actually feel kinda better. Maybe we can like skip the doctor?" he says, showing a bit of fear. Susan frowns sympathetically. "Now, Spike. The doctor won't be that bad, and we need to get you better. You don't want to get your brother sick, do you?" Or me, she silently worries - working with kindergarteners all day is enough like being exposed to a biological weapons lab, let alone when you have sick kids at home. Not waiting for an answer, she asks, "Do you want any more tea before we go?" Spike shakes his head, "No thank you." He signs and gets his coat. Susan's frown deepens. When Spike is this laid back and cooperative, he MUST be sick. She washes her hands self-consciously, and then brings Spike out to the car, bucking him in like he was half his age, not wanting to trust him to do it properly in his ill, zombie-like state. She goes around and gets in the driver's seat of her car, checking the mirrors before she starts the engine and pulls out - safety first! Spike rests his head on his hand as he looks lazily out the window, allowing his mom to buckle him up. At a stop light, he looks at what seems to be a mechanic garage. His interest not really perking up, he continues to look out the window. "Mom... I was wonderin' - can I maybe be a mechanic AND a writer when I grow up?" He looks over and says seriously "Dad said he wants to start a mechanic shop with me when I grow up...which...would be awesome." He then kind of waffles, "But...I kinda like writin' stories too." Spike adds "Like a reporter, like those guys you keep talkin' about. Woodword and Berenstein" (thinking it's like the Berenstein Bears) Susan smiles, looking over at her sick son in the seat next to her. "Of course, honey. A lot of writers have other interests as well - it just enriches their writing." And pays for them to eat, she thinks silently. "You can be anything you want when you grow up - a mechanic, a teacher, a writer - you're a smart kid, Spike. Whatever you decide to be, you'll be a success." She gives Spike an encouraging glance. They arrive at the doctor's office. Spike's doctor takes his shirt off and then asks him to take a few deep breaths. Then, the sucky part. The swab. Not wanting to let his mom down, he opens his mouth. The doctor shines a light inside, then asks Susan over. The doctor says in an instructive tone "So...you see all that white stuff back there..." Then, a quick swab. Spike acks, coughs, and gags. He then, out of earshot from his dad, cries "oowwwwwwww..." the perceived pain much worse than the actual pain, but to him, he just felt like he's been lanced. The doctor looks at Susan and says "We have a lab here, we'll process this while you wait." Susan nods and thanks the doctor. She then goes to Spike, and risks putting her arm around her little germ factory. "How are you holding up, Spike?" she asks with genuine concern and a smile. She reaches into her purse, and pulls out a can of lozenges. She opens it up and offers Spike one, since there's no way to make tea here and it'd be pretty messy to have Spike gargle salt water. "Here, sweetie, take one." Spike wipes a few tears from his eyes and sniffs, eking out "I'm okay..." He then takes one of the lozenges. And the two wait. Spike 's fairly rail-like legs gently bounce against the table. He gives his mom a slight smile. Even though he feels like utter crud, her presence seems to make him feel far more at ease than anyone else, including his dad. Spike says weakly, going back to 'that' topic, "Well, I know I'm gonna be a mechanic, 'cause dad said the moment I turn 16, he's quittin' his job and hiring me on as a hired hand, so when I graduate high school, I'll be able to start full time." Spike shrugs and mumbles "Don't tell dad, but I just wouldn't mind writing too." At least in 1980, in Sparkplug's mind, there were still some kids who were college kids, and some kids who could work with their hands. And while he still holds out hope for Buster, Sparkplug is sort of doing an 'all-in' bet for Spike. It'd guarantee his son stable, full-time employment, and would give Sparkplug the freedom to finally tell some of his lame-brained supervisors where to stick it (aside from Roland, who's working for another company now) - now that he's his own boss. Susan hms. "Well, we'll see about that. There's what your dad wants, and there's what YOU want - don't always assume those are the same things. While we may think we know what's best for you, someday you need to make your own decisions - once you're old enough, that is. In the meantime, be open-minded about what you want to be when you grow up. Maybe it'll be a writer/mechanic - maybe it'll be something totally different and a surprise!" Spike looks at Susan and nods. "Maybe... I'd still love workin' with him all day (says a 10-year-old)." He looks at Susan hopefully "An' that way, he could stay home more, instead of go on all of those jobs for a few weeks." Susan resolves to herself to find some authors that were also mechanics and other hands-on professions, to help give Spike some role models from which to be inspired. 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,' Susan thinks. '- that HAD to have been written by a mechanic, right?' She nods to Spike. "Well, as long are you enjoy spending time with your father, I definitely encourage it." Spike looks at the door and frowns/pouts "What the heck is taking so long?!" Susan looks at the door. "Now, be patient - I'm sure it won't be that much longer." She frowns. Spike looks back, frowning defiantly. Another one of the phases of growing up that Susan is well aware of. One moment, you want to hug him, the other, you want to trade him for a trip back to college and her doctoral thesis. Spike shoots Susan a slightly irritated look, "I love spending time with dad. Which is good, since dumb ol' Buster takes up all YOUR time..." Susan stifles a sigh. I will not sell him to the circus, she thinks. I will not sell him to the circus. She smiles at her own thoughts, and then can't help herself from looking out the door as if she could physically glance at what it taking the lab so long to run Spike's test. At Spike's comment, she responds irritably, "Enough of that, Spike, or no ice-cream." The last thing she needs if a guilt trip from a 10-year-old, especially after giving up her afternoon to take him to the doctor. Spike folds his arms and pouts, waiting for the stupid results of the stupid tests for his stupid sore throat. Susan can't really get away with pouting, but she's gets increasingly anxious waiting for the stupid results as well. It's obvious Spike has strep throats - why go through all these hoops? Just give us the medicine and let us go home already! : Spike says, "Yes, I'm sorry to interrupt your reading schedule because of my illness #momoftheyear" : Susan Witwicky LOL Spike looks at Susan, soon regretting what he just said. And with a look of sincerity - those brown eyes seem to disarm even the most hardcore career moms, he sighs and says "I'm sorry I called Buster stupid, I don't know why I said that." Spike admits "I know he needs like...special attention. An' your good at that." Susan frowns tiredly. "I know it can be tough for you sometimes, and I'm sorry. Sometimes it is easier just to let you hang out with your dad, since you two get along so well, and to focus my attention on Buster, who does need it sometimes. But it doesn't mean I love you any less, and I do think we need to spend more time together like this - without the sickness." She twists her mouth at the rather adult admissions, and tussles Spike's hair when she runs out of things to say. Spike smiles weakly. He looks up and says honestly "Don't get me wrong, I love ... I mean, like Buster. Well, I guess love, since he's like my brother..." he adds "But, I just remember how things were with us BEFORE he was born." Spike not really knowing where all of that pissed-off energy came from, is now suddenly wiped out. He lays down on the paper mat and waits for the test results, spent from the brief flare up of emotion. Susan cocks an eyebrow. "Really? How much can you even remember from back before Buster was born? You were five. It's not like there was a lot going on just because you had my full attention. Besides, don't you like having a little brother to look after and help take care of? Who else is going to play Star Wars with you? Mommy always wants to be Princess Leia," she grins. Spike continues to lay down. He shrugs, "I remember trips to the park, an' like watchin' Happy Days." He finishes "And pickin' out a book for you and I to read together." Spike mumbles "Buster's okaaaayy..." He looks up at Susan and admits, "He doesn't play it as good as you though. He keeps calling Chewbacca a dog." Susan chuckles. "OK, OK. You've made your case. I'll spend more time with you. Maybe I can spend Buster off with Dad sometime. That should mystify them both." She laughs at the mental image of the mismatched pair trying to find anything to talk about without Spike and Susan around as a buffer. "And isn't Chewbacca really just a big shaggy dog?" she teases. "I wonder if he has fleas," she grins. Spike looks up at Susan and giggles for the first time in a few hours. "Noooo!!!" he says in a playful tone. "He's a wookie!" Spike looks at Susan and says wanely "If Buster needs you more, you should spend time with him." He adds "But I like it when it's just you an' me." Susan giggles back, poking Spike in the nose. "And what is a 'Wookie' if not Han Solo's big furry pet dog? I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't let Chewbacca fly with his head out the window of the Millennium Falcon, barking at the other Wookies as they fly past. Zoooom! Woof woof woof! Zoom!" She glances at the door, just KNOWING that the doctor was going to return while she's in the middle of making spaceship and dog noises. She turns back to Spike. "I'll make more time for him AND you." And this is why she gets no reading done. Spike gives Susan a brief smile. Susan gives Spike a more confident, 'it'll be OK' smile back. Spike gets the visual and gets into a giggle fit, which then makes him wince. "Ow! Ow! Damnit!" Spike looks at Susan and quickly apologizes for cursing "Sorry!" And in front of Susan lies the eternal struggle. Patriarchy society or not, Spike is her flesh and blood, just as much as Buster. Susan chuckles sympathetically. "It's OK. Just quiet down and let's wait for the doctor, OK?" She opens up her little metal tin. "Here. Have another lozenge. Maybe you wait here and I'll go check on those lab results." She waits for Spike to take a lozenge and then gets up to go find the doctor or at least one of his nurses. It feels like she's been waiting in this small room for eleven hours or more. Spike takes another lozenge and curls up, waiting for his mom to return. What if he has to go to the hospital? What if he has another culture? What if they have to stick something down his throat next, or up his nose, or up his butt, or give him a shot, or..." Susan returns to the room almost immediately, whether she's found satisfaction or not. Either way she tells Spike, "It won't be too much longer now." She gently smooths his hair from his hot, damp forehead, frowning in annoyance at how long this is taking. She starts to half-seriously wonder if she's fallen into some sort of psyche experiment where they test how long subjects will wait in a small room before they crack. Spike looks up at Susan, in a slightly worried expression, "Is this gonna make dad mad?" He says frankly, not exactly 'getting' what he shouldn't and should be overhearing, "I heard you guys talkin' a few weeks ago, and he was kinda mad at my last doctor bill." Spike lets his mom smooth his sweat-matted head. "Or it might have been Buster's - I just know it was one of us." Susan frowns, further resolving to keep their voices down when Sparkplug and she argue over and discuss finances. Continuing to smooth Spike's hair, she hushes him quietly, and says, "Dad's not going to be mad. It's fine, honey. Just get better OK? The doctor will be in soon, and then we can get some medicine and go home, OK?" She leans forward and kisses Spike on his damp, feverish forehead. Spike closes his eyes and rests for awhile. His brief, albeit mild temper tantrum (compared with other kids in their neighborhood) was pretty benign. Still, the brief flare up pretty much reduced him to being planted on the paper mat. Waiting for the results. The doctor emerges back in. He gives Susan an apologetic look. "Sorry for the hold up." He looks at Spike, "You...have strep." He gives Susan a knowing look. He then writes a script, and give it to her. "A few days off school, and antibiotics should clear it up, but let me know if his fever doesn't break by Friday." Susan sighs in relief. Not that strep is GOOD news, but at least she finally has an official diagnosis and can finally get some medication and go HOME. At this point Buster will be coming home from school soon and any chance for some post-appointment peace is almost out the window. She thanks the doctor curtly, takes Spike by his hot little hand, and hurries them both out of the doctor's office. About 30 minutes before Buster comes home, Susan opts to skip the ice cream appearance, and just get some at the store that has Spike's script. Now, the two are back on the couch. After the meds, and the ice cream, Spike starts to nod off. But in one of those 'parenting moments' that somehow makes the entire thing worthwhile, Spike leans in close to Susan and falls asleep on her side. He's hot, he's contagious. But breathing quietly, and serenely, he's also irresistible. He mumbles and drapes an arm around Susan as he falls asleep. Susan aws and smiles. Maybe today is worth it after all. She ponders trying to read a book over Spike's head, but doesn't want to disturb him, so decides to just enjoy the nice moment and the quiet until Buster gets home. She closes her eyes and relaxes, and after her long day has to make sure she doesn't fall asleep, herself. Instead she starts mentally planning dinner and making a grocery list, wishing she'd had some time to do some shopping today for the week. Soon, the Witwicky household is bustling again. Buster comes home. Then Sparkplug. Sparkplug takes mercy on Susan by making dinner. True, it was macaroni and cheese, but at least it wasn't the Kraft kind. Now, at the late time of 8:30, Spike is in bed. Like a snow day, tomorrow's already written off from school. He looks over as he sees his mom tell Buster good night. Susan kisses Buster's forehead, somewhat afraid of transferring germs, but also mentally writing off the entire household as probably infected and preparing the bunker down and wait for the sickness to pass. Seeing Spike look over at her, she comes over to his bed and smiles down at him. "Good night, honey," she says. "You'll feel better tomorrow." She leans down and kisses his forehead as well. Spike looks up and whispers "Thank you..." still sick, but looking forward to another day with just him and mom.